I Didn’t Wake Up Healed. I Woke Up Done.

I didn’t grow up with a soft place to land.

I grew up in a single-parent home with an alcoholic mother. By the time I was nine years old, I was left alone for entire weekends at a time — responsible for my infant sister, trying to be a child and a caretaker at the same time.

I learned early how to survive.
How to stay quiet.
How to manage chaos.

And I learned how to self-soothe.

For me, that came in the form of food.

I was overweight most of my life — not because I lacked discipline, but because food was consistent when people weren’t. It didn’t leave. It didn’t judge. It didn’t ask me to be strong for anyone else.

When my dad died at 15, whatever sense of stability I had left disappeared with him.

Life didn’t pause after that — it accelerated.

By 25, I was engaged. At 26, I had my son. Shortly after, I moved into a home where I was once again supporting my sister. Then everything imploded.

I found out my fiancé had gotten her pregnant.

I didn’t stay.
I didn’t negotiate.
I kicked him out.

But that didn’t mean the responsibility disappeared.

Before he left, he wasn’t working — and I was supporting four of us.
After he left, I was still supporting four of us.

I was the only one working.
I was holding the household together.
I was raising a child.
I was surviving betrayal, heartbreak, and exhaustion — all at once.

And no one was taking care of me.

I raised my son as a single parent — no help from his father, no child support, no safety net. I raised him with intention, values, and accountability. I raised him to be respectful, grounded, and emotionally aware.

When he grew up, he joined the United States Marine Corps. He served 4 years of his 5 year contract and is now a disabled Vet. (Don’t worry, he’s fine and living his best life!) I’m a very proud mom! 

And when he left, something unexpected happened.

For the first time in my life…
There was no one left to take care of but me.

That’s when everything shifted.

Not dramatically.
Not overnight.
Not with a sudden burst of motivation.

I just woke up one day and knew — I was done.

Done living in a body I hid behind.
Done living to please everyone else.
Done being the strong one while abandoning myself.
Done waiting for someone else to make me a priority.

When my son left, I turned his bedroom into a gym.

And I showed up — every single day.

I worked out consistently for nearly three years.
Not perfectly.
Not obsessively.
But consistently.

That foundation mattered more than anything.

Later, I added Mounjaro to my regimen — and yes, it catapulted my weight loss into an entirely different phase. I’m honest about that because shame doesn’t belong in healing. Medication didn’t do the work for me — it worked with the habits, discipline, and self-trust I had already built.

Healing, for me, wasn’t about shortcuts.
It was about support.

At the same time, I realized something deeper:

If I wanted love, I had to learn how to give it to myself.
If I wanted worth, I had to believe I was worthy — not just logically, but emotionally.

So I committed to healing.

I returned to meditation.
I started journaling again.
I read the self-help books I once rolled my eyes at!
I moved my body.
I changed how I ate — intentionally, not restrictively.
I learned how to set boundaries with people who benefited from my lack of them.
And I walked away from others — or kept them at arm’s length — while I learned who I was without being needed.

Healing didn’t turn me into a new person.

It gave me back the one I buried to survive.

That’s why I do this work now.

Not because I have it all figured out.
Not because I’m “fixed.”
But because I know what it’s like to live in survival mode for decades — and what it feels like to finally choose yourself without guilt.

If you’re here, maybe part of you is tired too.
Tired of carrying everyone.
Tired of shrinking.
Tired of waiting for permission to matter.

You don’t need to hit rock bottom to change.
Sometimes you just need to wake up and decide:

This is not how my story ends.

And if you’re ready to start writing a new chapter — I’ll walk with you.